


This War of Mine

by Livid_Silver



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: POV First Person, Speed writing for the win, This War of Mine, Urban AU I guess, War, Wrote this as and English Essay in an hour and a half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4053706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livid_Silver/pseuds/Livid_Silver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short one shot, which I actually wrote for a school essay, prompt being 'Conflict can make ordinary people do extraordinary things'. Ideas taken from the game This War of Mine, which I highly recommend, and I thought the Sirs would make good characters for some reason. Time is assumed to be before they met.<br/>Note-Formatting did not want to play nice with me, so its a little funky. Just missing some italics and some weird centring of stuff, but hopefully I'll be able to fix it soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This War of Mine

No one expected it. War was a thing that only happened in Third World countries right? We should have been safe here, in Sarajevo. Yeah right. I don’t remember the specifics, just utter chaos. People were fleeing, scattering like mice, too terrified to think, only react. Some were literally crushed by the stamped, the ones who were too slow were gunned down, caught in the cross fire.  
I was one of the lucky ones, managing to escape and take refuge in an old crumbling house towards the city’s outskirts. The windows were smashed, colours faded and some of the walls featured large holes, but at least it offered some shelter; plus, I figured not many would bother with such a sorry looking structure. In the weeks that followed, life was far from easy. Food was hard to come by, the temperature was dropping and exploration in daylight was near impossible, unless you had a death wish that is. Military snipers manned the rooftops and picked off anything that moved, friend or foe- so much for ‘saving the civilians’.  
Two other survivors eventually found their way to my doorstep, cold, hungry and alone; I couldn’t turn them away. It meant more mouths to feed, but to turn them away would be to sentence them to death.  
Ross was the first to arrive, a tall dark haired man with a British accent and eyes as grey as steel. He turned up only a few days after the initial conflict and he was wounded; a bullet in his right shoulder. The wound was raw and angry, already making some half hearted attempt to heal, which only resulted in yellow puss and foul smelling ooze. I had very little medical knowledge, but I figured removing the lump of lead wouldn’t be too difficult; plus, if it wasn’t taken out he would surely die from the infection.  
You couldn’t just go to your local doctor or the hospital anymore. No, all that was left of those were piles of rubble and charred bones. Supplies were few and far between, but I had managed to find a small bottle of moonshine which served as the disinfectant, as for the bullet, that had to be dug out by hand. A few small rods of scrap metal assisted in keeping the wound open, somehow allowing me to remove the piece of lead. The pain was evident on the man’s face, but there was literally no other choice. It came free was a sickening squelch followed by a concoction of blood and puss, while Ross was turning a peculiar shade of green. The wound was rinsed again and left, there was nothing else I could do. There were no other medical supplies to be found. He really needed bandages…

In the beginning, I honestly didn’t think Ross was going to make it; I kept waiting to the day I would wake up to a body rather than my new companion. He looked so pale, so fragile with a fever that burned as hot as the sun. It was heartbreaking to watch him lie on the thin mattress which served as a bed, burning and freezing. Every night I would go out to the surrounding houses, now abandoned, and search for food, wood, scrap, parts, praying to find something, anything which might help him; praying for a miracle. More nights than I can count yielded nothing. My hope for a miracle was running like sand through a sieve and Ross was running out of time. The next night I left, I was certain it was Ross’s last. He hadn’t spoken in days, ate very little and had a fever burning as hot as the sun.  
That night I came across a house. It seemed to have belonged to a family, going off the children’s toys scattered around the yard. I picked the lock and stepped inside.  
-sigh- Empty. Now if I had medicine, where would I put it _?_  
Perhaps it was foolish to hope, but a young family usually had at least one pack of paracetamol. I found my way to the kitchen, not exactly where I tended, but kitchens are usually where the food is kept. It was dark and difficult to see, cupboards were left open and cutlery littered the floor.  
Must have left in a hurry but maybe they didn’t get a chance to take everything with them…  
Leaping up onto the counter, I searched through the cupboards like a rat through the trash.  
“Come on, come on, you must have left something… Aha!!” my fingers grapes the cold metal. I pull it out to find a single can of baked beans. It might not have been much, but it would feed us both for one night. With the rest of the kitchen proving useless, I continued on to what I hoped was the bathroom. I came across a large bedroom first, clearly the parents, knowing I was heading the in right direction. A white light caught my eye, the reflection of the moon of the gleaming on tiles. Rushing over, I start searching. The mirror appeared to some kind of lockable cabinet; locked cabinets were always good. After all why lock it if it wasn’t important. I start to work, sliding my pocket knife into the split between the doors. The knife hit something, which I could only assume was the lock. I slam my palm down on the knife’s handle and feel it give.  
_Oh please please please let there be something!_  
I slowly let my eyes drift towards the now open cabinet, I don’t what which was stronger, the feeling of fear or the feeling of hope.  
_YES!_  
It wasn’t much, one bottle of antibiotics and a single foil pack of some kind of herbal medicine, but it was enough; it had to be enough. I don’t think I ever got home faster than I did that night. I swung open the door and gave Ross the recommended dose. All I could do now was wait until morning.  
After being put on the meds, he improved quite quickly, fighting off the last of the infection. The wound itself was slow to heal completely, but he was out of the danger zone at least. His injured shoulder was always stiff after that though. I was actually quite fortunate to meet Ross; turns out he was a cook back in Britain, something which was immensely helpful to both of our survival. My ragtag meals looked like toxic slush compared to the banquets he was able to produce from what little I could find. It was just the two of us for a few weeks and during this time, we managed to board up some of the holes in the house and make some basics, a heater and proper bed and we even manage to fix an old radio which I found in the upstairs cupboard.  
It was a Tuesday, I think, when the next one turned up; another bloke, fiery red hair with an earthy voice and ex-military, much to our surprise. Said his name was Alex Smith and he’d served in a ‘previous conflict’ but wouldn’t say anymore about it other than it was medical discharge- post-traumatic stress. He’s a nice guy, though he does have a few strange habits, not that I would blame him. Ross and I have only experienced war once and he’s been through it twice. Every night, Alex insisted on taking watch, saying his background gave him the best ability for it, keep us all safe, but I honestly think he just couldn’t sleep at night- after all, there’s no light to chase away the nightmares. Every so often, when there was an update about the war on the radio, you’d see him completely space out and tense up, like he was in another time, re-living whatever it was he went through. I couldn’t notice a significant pattern in what he reacted to, other than it was usually group causalities. I could only think how lucky we were, majority of the conflict was towards the city’s centre, so we were safe… for now.  
Few more weeks past and winter was here and in full force. The days were cold and the nights even more so. Our little furnace was only just enough, but it was enough. We’d moved to melting the snow from outside for water, but our supply stack was in fairly good order. The night before I’d found a small collection of apartments which proved most fruitful; plenty of wood for fuel, a decent haul of food and most amazingly a guitar. I laid my hand on the polished wood, sliding it down each string. I have no idea how, but it was untouched- a perfect instrument among the ruins and wreckage.  
It felt so good walking through the front door, “hey guys look what I found!” hoisting the guitar over my head in some kind of victory display. Ross looked up from the simple stove  
“No way!” he exclaimed while running over, “where’d you find this?”  
“Down in the apartments, it was just lying there, I have no idea how it wasn’t broken.”  
To anyone else this may seem insignificant and no cause to celebrate, the food is probably the better of the two, but when you’ve read the same books twenty times over, it is a great relief to have any other form of entertainment.  
Smith poked his head down from the top floor, “what ya found?”  
I swing around and present the instrument, “Mind teaching? Said you used to play didn’t you?”  
A tiny glimmer shined in his eye and he leapt down the staircase, “sure, might as well do something productive during this darn blizzard.”  
For the next few hours we sat huddled around the log heater as Smith attempted to teach us the basics. Ross was up first, almost childlike in his actions. He seemed to have a fair bit of difficulty coordinating both hands to play the correct notes, but by the end of it he could play a shortened version of Seven Nation Army.  
“Hey look guys I’m ACDC!” Leaping around the room like the rock performers, strumming out his tune.  
“Ross, Seven Nation Army was The White Stripes, not ACDC, now hand it over!” I jested with a smirk.  
“Well, same difference isn’t it? They all sound pretty similar to me,” handing over the guitar. Smith and I just laughed and got to work on the next song. Another hour or so passed and we all headed off to bed, except Smith, who resumed his watch. How he managed to function on such little sleep I couldn’t understand.  
The storm made scavenging tonight far too dangerous. The snow flew haphazardly, wind bit into your flesh and you were lucky to see ten meters in front of you. We still had enough food to last a few more days, with any luck, it would be long enough for the storm to blow over. I settled down into the makeshift bed and pulled the thin blanket over. Yes, the nights were cold and bitter, but no unbearably so. Not yet anyway. Slowly I drifted off to sleep.

-twange twange-  
I woke with my heart racing, disorientated and panicky. Leaping out of bed, I reach for my knife and prepare to face the intruders. It was only as the melody continued that I realized it was only Smith on the guitar. I made my way to the steps, sunk down, let the knife slide from my grip and listened.  
~~~  
I’m ready warden to meet my end,  
To believe my soul I lend,  
To leave my mark upon the Earth,  
Goodbye my wish to walk its girth.  
Hello soul within the ground,  
I’ll go quiet, no cry, no sound,  
I’m ready Warden,  
Yes, I’m ready.  
I never did play that well free,  
Put that bird in a cage, that dog on a leash,  
But be sure to put that dog down,  
Don’t fear his bark now he can’t make a sound,  
‘Cause we’re the Wardens,  
And we’re ready,  
Yeah we’re the Wardens,  
And we’re ready.  
Well, put the man in war and he’ll kill just fine,  
But guilt only comes when the killing is defined,  
Grab your guns and head to the hills,  
Get ready.  
Well twelve men stood and the judge said he,  
Who murdered Lil Sadie in the first degree,  
He cut her down, in cold blood,  
Now he must wear rope and he must wear the hood,  
Its heavy boys,  
It gets heavy.  
Its heavy boys,  
It gets heavy.  
I knew the price but I couldn’t pay the bill,  
Now my grave is the counter and the gallows’ the till.  
Leave me just, two coins please,  
To pay the man at the boat and Lucifer his fee,  
Just drop me Warden,  
‘Cause I’m ready.  
Yeah drop me Warden,  
‘Cause I’m ready.  
And through the back now I draw last breath,  
Though shapes through the hood,  
Draw my last friends left,  
I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done,  
Let the people cheer,  
Death hammer on his drum.  
But no you don’t anything for free,  
You gonna wanna way out better follow me,  
A killer’s still a killer with a gavel or not,  
Remember you’re coin sir,  
Your feet are getting’ hot.  
You’re next Warden,  
Yes you’re next.  
‘Cause it’s your neck Warden,  
Your neck.  
~~~  
(Warden, The Tin Bucket Boys)

I didn’t know whether to applaud his performance or mourn with him. Poor Smith, all this must have affected him far more than I thought, although I felt as though this was a well practiced verse. He’s always so happy-go-lucky during the day, though I do think Ross’s positive attitude has something to do with that. At night, there’s no one around to see you break. I got up and headed up to the look out.  
“Wanna try something a bit happier next time?” I chuckled.  
“Yeah, I know it’s just-“  
I lay a hand on his shoulder, “I know,” and I sat there until sunrise.  
                                                                                                                                         ~~~

A warm light on my face lulls me from my sleep. I shake my head and try to orientate myself.  
Must have fallen asleep up here.  
Soft sizzling and a pleasant aroma hit my senses. Ross must be making breakfast. It’s still only early morning, the sun was only just peering above the horizon, lighting up the desolate landscape. It was easy to forget what was actually going on out there. Our home was a slice of heaven compared to the rest of the city. A strange glint catches my eye. Stepping towards the window, I try to look closer. The giant reflection turned into three smaller ones and it took me a moment to realize what they were.  
My heart froze.  
The radio is flicked on with a click and leapt straight into an announcement.  
“We have been alerted that the military have located a rebel hideout, somewhere in the south east quadrant of the city. Any survivors are strongly encouraged to evacuate the area immediately.”  
Shit.  
Adrenaline hits my veins and I leap into action. Everything moulds into a blur and tome slowed to a crawl, Ross was trying to collect as much as he can, Smith racing up from the basement. By this time Ross is at the door, motioning for us to come, but I’ve frozen. I can see the bombers, right on top of us. I’m yanks towards the door by my tea-shirt,  
“Come on!” Smith growls.  
I turn and start running as the first shell is dropped. It hits the house behind, but the shockwave throws us all forward. My face hits the ground, I taste dirt and blood but I get up and keep running. Ross is in front, heading for a small bombed out unit to the north, towards the inner city. My lungs are burning and my legs are aching but we run on, as long as we dare. I can only hope Smith is still behind me. Another shell hits to the left, but further away this time, only a few small piece of metal fly towards us, one manages to slice my hand. It seemed like an eternity before we collapsed into the house. The roof was missing, but it was out of the danger zone. We were all gasping for breath, not really aware of what just happened. Ross was the first to speak, in between gasping breaths, ‘everyone alright?’  
I just nod, all limbs were pretty much intact apart from strange ringing in my left ear, but most importantly, I was alive.  
He turned to Smith, ‘Mate, you alright?’  
No response.  
‘Smith? SMITH!’  
I turn around to see the ginger breathing heavily on the floor, surrounded by a pool of his own blood.  
“Shitshitshitshit, Alex, buddy, look at me,’ Ross was down by his head, elevating and tapping him on the cheek, trying to get any kind of response. I inspect the wound and shudder. A large piece of shrapnel was lodged into his flesh, running from the shoulder diagonally down, almost all the way to the hip. There was no way of telling how deep the metal had embedded itself into his flesh, but if the blood was anything to go by, it wasn’t great. It looked to be a piece of tin, maybe from the roof of the house. I bet it was when he was dragging me out…  
Slapping myself back to the present, Ross had removed his shirt and I reached for the offending tin and started to slide it out. The sound was sickening. Schuelching and sliding, more blood boiled over and little bits of flesh stuck to the metal. It was deep, very deep. All I could think was how in the heck are we going to fix him without any supplies, heck, how are we going to fix him at all?  
“What, are we gonna do Ross?”  
He pulled his shirt off and stuffed in to Smith’s wound, trying to stem the profuse bleeding, ‘same as you did with me, we’re gonna save him.’  
I looked around at the blood, the metal, Ross’s now blood soaked shirt, Smith unconscious in the dirt. It all looked so hopeless. He turned and looked me directly in the eyes, ‘you need to go out and find something, anything, that can be used for bandages, medicine disinfectant, anything. You’re smaller and faster than I am. I’ll stay with him and see what else I can find around here. Go!’  
I ran.  
I hadn’t been this far out before. A few houses had come and gone- a bedsheet here, a bottle of water there, but no bandages, no medicine. The water could be boiled to purify it; there was plenty of timber back there, but still no bandages. Bandages were the top priority. There was no way we could stitch it, the chances of finding that kind of equipment was next to none, but as long as we could stop him from bleeding out; if we stop him from bleeding out…  
I spot an open window and leapt inside. I should be more cautious, but there shouldn’t be anyone this far out.  
-clunk-  
Oh no.  
I crouch down and begin slinking through each room. It’s well-furnished, with old floral patterns and comfy chairs. I could hear voices now, from the next room. They were muffled, but they were there. I crept closer, a soft voice floating on the air,  
“Remember dear, you’ve got to take your medicine. It’s in the first aid kit.”  
A disgruntled reply could be heard, but I couldn’t make out the words. Medicine? A first aid kit? I could not have asked for anything better.  
I peer around the doorway, finding an older couple. The man was sitting in his armchair, reclined, while the lady was handing him a glass of water and what I assumed his pills. My eyes drift over to the kitchen counter and there it is, lying out in the open. I could see gauze pads, sterile needles, bandages, pills of some sort, antiseptic wipes, everything we could need and more. We could save Smith! After what he did, there was no way I would let him die, I simply wouldn’t allow it. I padded over to the counter, still unseen and reached for the kit. My hand wavered in the air. The man looked sick, really sick. I think he couldn’t even rise from his chair. His face was red and he had difficulty even lifting the glass to his lips.  
This stuff was keeping him alive.  
Guilt crashed over me, what right did I have to choose who lived and who died. Why did Smith deserve to live more than they? If the man was to perish, I was certain the women would follow shortly after. Was it right to save a life by ending two more?  
The glass clinked down onto the coffee table; I’m going to get caught.  
“Hey! What are you doing!”  
Fuck! What do I do, what do I do!  
My hand wavers for what felt like an eternity. Time slowed, trying to weigh up my choices. An eye for an eye? How do you determine right from wrong? How do you choose? Can you choose?  
I snatch the kit and run, out the window and down the street and I don’t stop until I reach the others. All I could see was a blur of tears.

  
~~~  
“You did it! I don’t know where you found it, but you did! Can ya see that Smith? We’ll fix you right up now!” Ross was ecstatic and set to work immediately. In the time I was gone, Alex had come to and was sitting up. His blood seemed to be clotting well and only a small trickle could be seen through Ross’s now soaked shirt. He looked up and smiled, ‘thanks mate.’  
I give him a bleary eyed smile back and I sunk down next to him, ‘It’s j-just I had t-‘  
He put a hand on my knee, ‘I know.’  
Ross looked up from cleaning the wound and nodded, ‘I ain’t gonna ask you what happened, but you got it home and that’s all that matters. You saved his life.’  
I close my eyes, I know that, so why don’t I feel good about it?  
“In times of war, there are no rules anymore, you just have to do what you need to, to survive,’ stated Smith, ‘it’s never easy, no rules between right or wrong, just choices. And let me say, I’m thankful you made the choice you did.”  
He winced a little, ‘War makes men mad.’  
We looked out onto the surrounding landscape. The destruction, the death the utter carnage and what for? War doesn’t prove who’s right and who’s wrong, only who’s left. Thousands were dead, men, women, children, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, civilian and military alike. There is no discrimination, only attack and defense. I look towards our old house, only to find a smoking pit of ash. No one would care; no one would even remember what once stood there.  
“Yeah, it really does.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you enjoyed! Like I said, its a bit quick and too fast paced for my liking, but I literally had 100 minuets to write it, so unfortunately I couldn't be the perfectionist I usually am. I had been suffering from writer's block for the longest time before I wrote this, but I'm hoping that phase has ended! If you have any tips, pointers, critiques or suggestions for more stories, please please please let me know!
> 
> ~Bako


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